Into Forever
by Hyaci
Summary: They were both broken. But he fervently hoped that they could, perhaps, heal one another.


Hyaci here! Anyway, I know I should probably update my main fic... but I just HAD to write this lololol. Inspired by Mimi's Forever.

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**Into Forever**

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Hermione sat at her desk, contemplating her life thus far with a bitter smile on her face. She was the perfect image of the tragic heroine- a strong figure that had persevered and won, only to be defeated by embittering regrets. Her eyes- those once-warm chocolate brown eyes that had radiated with liveliness and intelligence in her early years- they were now dulled with age, sadness, and memories innumerable.

At the doorway of her office stood the man who was her best friend, Harry Potter. He observed her with a sort of guilt bubbling within him- perhaps it hadn't been his fault that the war had changed her, but he knew that were it not for his existence, she would not have had to bear quite so much of a burden. Were it not for his existence, she wouldn't be sitting at this desk, devoid of the shining traits that once defined her.

She was broken. Just as broken, perhaps, as he himself.

Hope welled up inside him, regurgitating itself from the dark hell of despair and numbness- was it wrong to be glad that she was broken, so that he could have the chance fix her?

As if sensing his presence, she glanced up and caught his eye. Immediately, she straightened, and plastered a false smile onto her face, raising that mask of internal strength- as if presenting to the world a declaration of her own well-being.

Harry once more felt a surge of remorse- everything was for him, because of him. It was for him that Ron had taken the killing curse, and it was because of him that the future Hermione and Ron once whispered promises to each other of had been ripped from their grasp. His fault that what had once been so tantalizingly close was now an impossibility.

Everything was his fault.

"Hello there, Harry," Hermione said, her voice strong and steady. Harry suppressed a sigh- she had always seemed strong, and were it not for that wistful, nostalgic look that had graced her eyes mere seconds before, he would never have believed that she had been affected in the least. All other war veterans had suffered in various ways- George was no longer whole with his twin gone forever, and was little more than a vacant shell these days; Mrs. Weasley had been unable to cope with the loss of so many children, and her mind was constantly revisiting happier times; he himself had been diagnosed with post-traumatic stress disorder not too long ago. Out of all of them, Hermione had been the only one that had appeared unaffected.

But one glance in her eyes brought down the façade of strength. One glance, and her sorrow was painfully evident.

"Hey, Hermione," he smiled weakly. "Ready to go?"

With a clear, bell-like laugh, she arose. "You know I am," she smiled broadly, reaching up to her coat rack and grasping a pink hoodie. "Always."

He rather than calling her out on her lie, he simply offered her his arm. "Let's go then," he spoke, voice soft.

A gentle smile adorned her face as she reached out to grasp his hand with her own soft one. He closed his eyes, and squeezed hers- reveling in the gentle warmness it radiated- before whipping out his wand and raising it skyward. In a moment, they were gone, having melted into the thin air surrounding them.

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Perhaps it was merely the fact that it was the anniversary of Ron's death that dampened the mood, but Harry felt that the cemetery was tangibly colder. Though it had always possessed an eerie, nightmarish quality whenever he had come to visit his friend, everything seemed far grimmer that day. From the intricately carved headstones to the graying grass that spread far and wide like a carpet of death, everything seemed to possess a gravity that had always been in moderation before.

A whisper of a wind blew by, whipping his messy hair into the air and sending burning chills down his spine. Instinctively, he shivered, before steadying himself. His eyes traveled toward Hermione, who stood beside him, seemingly nonchalant.

"Come one," she said breezily, giving his arm a slight tug. "His grave is over there, isn't it?"

In mere minutes, they traversed over the field, past the mountains and valleys of tombs and gravestones, through the somber statues and statuettes, up and down the hills, out into the carefree meadow set aside specifically for war heroes. Quickly, the grave belonging to Ronald Weasley was located- a simple, elegant marble piece that anonymously blended in with the rest.

In hindsight, Harry wasn't sure that the design would have been to Ron's taste. It had always been Ron's personal wish to stand out among his friends, among his brothers- yet here was his grave, no different from the rest. But Hermione had chosen it, and he- here, a bit of resentment slithered into his thougts- supposed she knew her lover best…

A muffled sniffle brought him tumbling back to reality, and he belatedly realized that there were tears running down Hermione's cheeks. He took a second to marvel at the sight- it was the first time in an extremely long while that he had been privy to a moment of vulnerability- the first occasion that she had willingly allowed her veneer of self-control to drop away. Quietly, he reached into his coat pocket, and produced a handkerchief, which was then offered to his companion.

"Thank you," Hermione rasped, instantaneously snatching the handkerchief and holding it to her eyes.

"No problem," Harry responded, squeezing her hand as if offering support. She shot him a grateful look, before returning her gaze to the grave marker of their dearly departed friend.

"It's just-," she managed, her voice breaking almost imperceptibly on the words, "I didn't think it would be this hard, you know?"

He knew exactly what she meant. After all the deaths he had been witness to, he had believed himself numbed to the pain it brought. But the very first time he had come to visit his first friend, he had been swept away by a burst of nostalgia, and had finished the visit a weeping mess. He hadn't been ready for the waves of emotions that had bowled him over.

Or the jealousy that had provoked guilt and inner turmoil.

"I know," he answered, his voice rawer than he would have liked.

Hermione plopped down onto the grass, and motioned for him to do the same. Without even really thinking, he followed her suit.

After a few moments of silence, Hermione thought aloud.

"I never thought it would be Ronald," she said, almost wonderingly.

The cold chill that was curdling in his stomach, that feeling of _dying_ that was overwhelming him- he supposed it was his heart breaking.

He should have known that he would never have had a chance.

"I know," he whispered hollowly. "It was always supposed to be me."

'What- no! Harry, I didn't mean it that way! You know I didn't," she protested reprovingly, her voice filled with long suffering undertones.

He remained silent, digesting her protests. In a way, he supposed she hadn't meant it like that- but what was the difference when it was what she thought? Suddenly, he was bombarded with such worries- did she, perhaps, resent him for his hand in Ron's death? Was there a part of her deep down that wished he had been the one to die?

If there was, he couldn't truly fault her- after all, that was what he himself wished.

A few more moments of pure, unimpeded silence reigned. No wind blew through the trees, no birds chirped cheerfully. No breaths or sighs were audible. There was only complete silence- the melody that serenaded him, exacerbating his regrets.

"It's alright," he said abruptly.

Hermione shook her head firmly. "No, it's not alright, Harry," she berated herself fiercely. 'I should never have said that! What was I thinking? What was I _smoking_?"

Harry forced a grin. "It's alright, Mione. I know you didn't mean it like that.

"I should think so," Hermione laughed in a brittle manner. "It would be a poor testament to my friendship if you actually believed I would even _think_ that."

_But she did._

"I know you don't, Hermione."

She flashed him a warm smile, marred only by the tear tracks that ran down her cheeks. After a few seconds, she turned her gaze back to the block of marble before the both of them, and stood. Whipping out her wand, she muttered a few words, conjured a single dahlia, and dropped it onto Ron's grave in a hurried manner.

"The Weasleys are having a huge celebration tonight," she began, her voice imbued with what he recognized as a false thoughtfulness. "It's in his honor. You coming?"

"What kind of friend would I be if I didn't?"

A familiar frown appeared on her face- that same frown that had always been accompanied with a rebuke of some sort back in their younger days. True to her character, Hermione did not fail to deliver.

"Harry, if you're just coming because you feel _obligated..._"

He shook his head. "It's not just an obligation to me."

The brown eyes studied him for a moment. They were eyes that had always been able to read him, the nuances of his body language, the subtle details of his actions, the emotions that every movement radiated… Distantly, he wondered if they still _could_ read him.

He hoped they could. Even if he had no chance with her, it would be nice to know that the great bond they had shared their whole lives would last for some semblance of forever.

"Right," she smiled blandly. "I'll see you there." With a crack, she was gone.

He buried his face in his hands as the tumultuous emotions within him reached an all-time high. Evidently, those brown eyes- they couldn't.

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Hey guys! I just wanted to be a good lamb, and advertise the fact that Mariah Carey has a new song out tomorrow...

and

the

voice

is

BACK!

So go check it out on Youtube or Soundcloud, and buy it tomorrow if you like it :D


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